


Between the Stacks

by dinglehoppersaplenty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, M/M, human!Hales, librarian!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinglehoppersaplenty/pseuds/dinglehoppersaplenty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>human!Derek and librarian!Stiles AU. That's it, really, that's the story. (Also fireworks.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stilinskisparkles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/gifts).



> written for Amy, who is a kind and patient soul. Also found in two parts [ at my tumblr.](http://dinglehoppersaplenty.tumblr.com/post/40044213259/between-the-stacks-part-1-2)

“Tall, Dark and Brooding, three o’clock,” Lydia says out of the corner of her mouth as she comes up beside Stiles where he’s busy reshelving _Civil War Curiosities: Strange Stories, Oddities, Events, and Coincidences_. As Stiles slots the book back into its proper place, he looks to the right out of the corner of his eye and immediately spots who she was talking about.

“Oh my God,” he hisses back, and she gives him a smirk with an additional quirk of her eyebrows.

Against better judgment, Stiles turns his head fully to get a good look at the guy, who’s absorbed in whatever book he’s pulled off the shelf, angled slightly away from them.

He’s about as tall as Stiles, maybe a little taller, with dark hair fashioned into a spiky thing on top of his head and cheekbones that could probably cut glass and dark stubble along his strong jaw. When Stiles finally gets over the guy’s face, he moves down to the rest of the body—and it doesn’t disappoint in the least. He has broad shoulders under a black leather jacket, and a great ass and thighs hugged by tight denim.

Then, as if he’s got some kind of strange sixth sense or something, the guy perks up out of his book and looks over.

Their eyes catch for a moment, and Stiles can feel the blush rising into his cheeks and can tell his mouth is open unattractively. The guy arches an inquisitive eyebrow, and Stiles flails slightly and turns back to his cart of books, grabbing one at random and stuffing it onto the shelf. Next to him, Lydia giggles, and Stiles kind of really wants to elbow her to get her to shut up.

Before he can get the chance (or more like musters up the courage because she would probably break his elbow before it got anywhere near her,) she points out, “That book belongs three aisles down,” and marches away in a swirl of fruity perfume.

Stiles looks at the book he’s trying to stuff away— _Living on the Wind: Across the Hemisphere with Migratory Birds_ —and rolls his eyes at himself, yanking it back out and putting it back in the cart.

By the time he looks up, Tall Dark and Brooding is gone.

 *

Stiles manages to shelve the books in record time, hoping he can get back to the desk before the guy leaves—maybe even help him check out whatever book that was he had, or if he decides not to get it, Stiles can at least watch him leave and ogle unabashedly at his ass.

When he gets back to the desk, Lydia is sitting primly behind it, legs crossed in her chair behind her own computer for checking out, and reading what looks like a Seventeen magazine. When Stiles comes back around behind the desk, he sees that it’s actually the latest TIME; she licks her thumb with each turn of the page.

“He hasn’t left yet,” she says quietly, before Stiles even takes his seat at the other computer behind the desk.

He splutters, “What? Who?” for a moment, but she just arches her eyebrow at him and he quickly shuts up, turning back to his computer.

For the next five minutes, he plays Hearts on the computer with one eye on the screen and one eye on the door, just waiting for the hot guy to even just walk past. After a while he gets distracted by the game, focusing on keeping his winning streak going. He’s just in the middle of mentally cussing out that fucking North bitch for giving him the Queen of Spades when he hears someone clear their throat.

He looks up and immediately finds the most stunning pair of eyes he’s ever seen.

They’re some strange combination of green and blue and hazel brown and _really freaking intense_ wow—

Mrs. Hardison, who comes in every Thursday to read trashy romance novels (Stiles doesn’t know why she doesn’t just _check them out and take them home like you’re supposed to_ but whatever) chooses that moment to let out her loud, hacking cough, and Stiles blinks, only to realize that the eyes he was just staring into belong to Tall Dark and Brooding.

Oh God.

He flails slightly, unable to help himself, and then remembers that oh, hey, he actually has a job to do here.

“Uh, hi!” he says, a little bit too loudly for the library, even the front desk. He feels his neck grow warm and he coughs, looking down at the desk where the guy has put down the book he’s decided to check out. He immediately flails for it. “Did you find everything you were looking for?” he asks, a bit more reserved, and the guy nods curtly.

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, in a voice that was actually a little higher than Stiles was expecting, but no less hot.

Stiles waits expectantly for some sort of comment—he’s personable, the people here love him, they always talk to him—but the guys just stares blankly. After a moment, he arches his eyebrow, and Stiles abruptly turns back to the book. “Right, sorry,” he says, and scans it on autopilot.

It’s only then that he realizes he left the screen on his game of Hearts. He resists the urge to bash his head into something and lunges for the mouse to quickly switch back into the checking program. He scans the book again, only to remember that he actually needs the guy’s card first.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” he blusters, feeling the blush spread from the back of his neck into his ears, “I um—I need your card.”

Without a word, the guy slides it across the counter. His mouth is turned down, in not-exactly-a-frown, but not anything happy, either, and he’s still looking at Stiles with his eyebrow raised in a way that makes Stiles feel very judged.

“Right,” he says, because he hates when people don’t talk back to him, and scans his card. The program pops up with Derek Hale as his name, so at least Stiles doesn’t have to call him “Tall Dark and Brooding” in his mind anymore.

Not that he’ll really have the chance to call him that or his name ever again, because Stiles is pretty sure he’s botched this whole thing completely. Stiles busies himself with the familiar process of checking out the book— _The Cider House Rules_ , hey, that was a good movie—and slips the card inside the front cover after he stamps it with its return date.

“It’s due back May 24th,” Stiles says, and the guy— _Derek_ , nods, sliding the book from the counter and into his hands.

“Thanks.” Derek pauses, like he wants to say something else, and Stiles holds his breath, because seriously, _what if_ —

But then Derek just stuffs the book into one of the pockets on his leather jacket and turns to walk out the door. “Have a nice day!” Stiles calls after him, only a little sarcastic, and takes a moment to stare at Derek’s ass, since it’s probably the last chance he will ever have.

Lydia waits until the door has swung shut behind Derek before she clucks her tongue and shakes her head.

“What?” Stiles asks indignantly, using the desk as leverage to turn his chair and look at her. She’s smirking, a little bit meanly, and still reading her magazine.

“That was pathetic,” she says, before licking her thumb and turning the page.

“I’d like to see you do better,” he replies, and she looks up at him, eyebrow arched. And yeah, Stiles really doesn’t want to see her do better, because she could probably get Derek to go on a date with her without even getting out of her chair. “Shut up,” he says even though she hasn’t said anything, and spins his chair back to the computer. He clicks a bit more forcefully than necessary to bring his Hearts game back to the forefront of the screen, and moodily puts his elbow on the desk and his chin in his hand. “He’s probably not even interested in guys,” he says after a moment to make himself feel better about the whole debacle.

“I’m not the one he chose to check out with,” Lydia sings.

Stiles doesn’t really have anything else to say to that, so he just repeats, “Shut up.”

 *

He doesn’t really expect to see Derek ever again, so a week later when Stiles is leading a young girl down to the biography section for help with her history report and sees Derek sitting at one of the tables, he almost stops in his tracks.

“What?” the girl asks, noticing the falter in Stiles’ step. She begins to look around, but Stiles flails and pulls her around, going the long way around.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, deliberately avoiding looking behind them at Derek. “I just…saw something I wasn’t expecting.”

“In the library?” she asks dubiously, stopping and putting one hand on her hip. “Nothing exciting ever happens in the library.”

“How would you know, you’re like, ten years old,” Stiles says. “For all you know we could have wild parties when the place shuts down. And who said we were talking about exciting, anyway? All I said was unexpected.”

She narrows her eyes, but all she really has to say is, “I’m eleven,” like it should have been obvious. Stiles had never been very good with guessing ages anyway.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles puts a hand on her shoulder to encourage their progress. “Yeah yeah yeah, come on.”

After showing her the biography section with a large wave of his hand—he was totally Vanna White in another life, dude—he quickly leaves her behind and ducks down another aisle, pressing himself against the shelves and peering around the corner to peek at the gathering of tables in the open section between the two sections of shelves.

Only to see Derek looking straight at him.

“Oh my god,” he says, thankfully quiet, and quickly ducks back to hide behind the bookshelf. “Idiot,” he hisses to himself, thunking his head back against the bookshelf. Then he does it a couple more times, just for good measure.

Then he remembers that even if he takes the long way back to the desk and sticks to the outside wall, he will still have to pass by the tables to get there. He groans internally.

But you know what? No. He could do this. No problem. He can just…walk past the superhot guy he had thrice times over embarrassed himself in front of. He is—well, not an adult, but almost. In like, a year. He could totally do this.

Nodding to himself, he pushes off the bookshelf. He rubs his hands together, then shakes out his entire body. “You got this,” he murmurs, and takes a step out into the open space.

Resolutely, he does not look over to where he knows Derek is sitting. The only problem with that is that he ends up not looking around him at all, and then his foot gets caught on a chair leg.

He very nearly avoids going sprawling, only by just barely catching himself on a nearby table. There’s still a lot of flailing and some noise, but he manages to resist the urge to curse loudly. Instead he does it very quietly. “God dammit,” he mutters, still braced against the table. “Of course.”

“Are you okay?”

He jumps at the voice, spinning around to find Derek looking up at him. He hasn’t quite risen from his seat, but he looks ready to, large hands splayed across the table in preparation to push himself to his feet.

Stiles swallows and shakes his head quickly, the blush flaring brightly in his cheeks. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Nothing hurt but my relatively non-existent pride.” He waves a hand, and Derek relaxes back into his seat, one of his eyebrows rising. “I’m just gonna…go…” Stiles gestures for the desk, resisting the urge to end that sentence with a threat on his own life, and Derek nods, looking back down at whatever book he was reading. Stiles watches for a few moments because apparently he can’t help himself anymore; Derek bites his lip, and wow, that is not fair at all.

Derek looks back up, and this time he’s not brooding or judging or anything. He’s—god, he’s almost _beautiful_. Stiles’ breath catches in his throat. Then Derek’s mouth opens, like he’s getting ready to say something.

Stiles flees.

 *

“Smooth,” Lydia says when he gets back to the desk; because of _course_ she saw the whole thing. “You’ll be in his pants in no time.”

Stiles totally doesn’t pout—except he kind of totally does—at the collection of books that have accumulated in the return bin on his side of the desk. Lydia has already done all of hers, of course, and they are all sorted and waiting to be returned on the cart. It’s his turn to reshelve again, so he figures he might as well get on checking in his own; maybe that way, if Derek comes back up to the desk, Stiles won’t be there.

Only apparently the universe hates him, because he’s only checked in two books when another one is slapped on top of the desk, and the hands that do so belong to Derek.

“Uh, hi,” Stiles says, putting aside the book he’d been checking in. He clears his throat and manages to find Derek’s eyes. “You—checking out?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, sliding the book across the desk toward Stiles. His gaze is…strangely intense.

“Cool,” Stiles says, trying to ignore that stupid blush again, and takes the book. Instead of asking for his card, he looks up Derek’s name, even though that might be a little creepy. It’s mostly just for a reason to break eye contact, though. He notices that Derek still hasn’t returned _Cider House Rules_ , but their limit is like, ten books at a time, so he just scans in Derek’s newest book.

“ _Botany in a Day: Thomas J. Elpel's Herbal Field Guide to Plant Families_ ,” he recites, and is immediately puzzled. “You ah, interested in Botany, then?” he asks, trying to smile.

Derek blinks in surprise, like he hadn’t even realized what he was checking out, but then he just shrugs. “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

Stiles waits for more, but he doesn’t seem very forthcoming with anything else. Sighing heavily, Stiles opens the front cover, rolling the stamp in its ink.

“It’ll be due May 31st,” he says as he stamps it, and Derek nods, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth.

For a moment, Stiles considers forgetting the fact that he’s embarrassed himself multiple times around this guy, or at least hoping that he finds this all endearing or charming rather than ridiculous, and asking Derek out himself.

But then Derek just clears his throat and nods, sweeps the book into his arms and leaves.

“Have a nice…” The door shuts behind him. “Day.”

 *

“I just don’t get it,” Stiles says one day to Scott.

Scott’s tongue is poking out the side of his mouth as he concentrates on lacing in shooting strings into the pocket of his lacrosse stick. (Even though there’s not much reason, considering Scott still has asthma and is only on second string, which barely gets any action.) “Don’t get what?” he says belatedly, as he glances over to the reference guide he’d pulled up on his computer from the internet.

Stiles sighs, flopping back onto Scott’s bed. “He just checks out random books. Like, all the time!”

Over the past month, Derek had started to up his visits from weekly to every few days or so, every time Stiles had a shift, and always checked out a new book. After the botany book, it had been _The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Intermediate French_. Then another novel (Stiles could admit that his heart had done a little hop-skip when he’d seen it—Stiles loves Vonnegut,) but then Derek had gone with another botany book— _Mushrooms and Other Fungi of North America._

“Are we talking about that dude you met at the library again?” Scott checks, looking up from his lacing.

Stiles gives him an ‘are you serious?’ look, accompanied with hand motions. “Who else would I be talking about?”

He’s not ashamed to admit that he talks about Derek almost any chance he gets—he almost feels bad, but then remembers how Scott was with Allison at the beginning. Or he remembers the way he himself used to be with Lydia, before he started working with her and realized how much better off they would be as just friends…and that he might actually have more of a thing for dudes.

Scott chuckles and turns back to his lacing. “Yeah, I dunno. But like—I just don’t know why you’re so obsessed with him.” He looks up again, wearing what Stiles has internally dubbed as his Confused Puppy Face. “Like, what do you even know about this guy?”

“He checked out a book on Ancient Egypt today.” _Religion in Ancient Egypt: Gods, Myths, and Personal Practice_ , to be specific.

Scott gave him a judging look, which, no way, because Stiles had to sit through literally hours of Scott waxing poetic about Allison’s hair and smile and body when they’d only been on one date. He tells Scott this, but Scott just shrugs. “Yeah, but at least I’d gone out with her. I mean—you just kind of stalk him in the library.”

“Excuse you,” Stiles says, pointing at Scott while still laying down. “I nonchalantly track his movements while he is in my periphery, thank you very much.” If he happens to take his time putting books away in order to keep Derek in his periphery longer, that’s his choice.

Shaking his head, Scott turns back to his lacrosse stick. “I just don’t see why you don’t ask him out already.”

“Did you miss the part where I embarrassed myself in front of him? Multiple times?” Stiles says, sitting up sharply and gesturing wildly with his arms.

“I thought you had no shame?” Scott knots off the lace he’d been threading, then smirks at Stiles. “That’s what you said when Jackson dared you to knock on Señor Paulo’s door in your underwear last winter.”

“I thought we agreed to never speak of that again,” Stiles says darkly. Not only had Señor Paulo sicced his dog on Stiles, but while Stiles was hiding from said dog, he’d nearly gotten frostbite in his balls, he swears to God.

“I’m just saying that maybe this guy still wants to date you!” Scott says with enthusiasm. He gestures with his lacrosse stick as he adds, “I mean, he still comes back and talks with you every time, right?”

“He grunts at me while I check him out.”

Scott doesn’t say anything for a second, then looks up at Stiles with that expression he gets when he’s trying not to laugh. “You check him out, huh?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Stiles rolls his eyes, grabbing the nearest object and whipping it at him; it turns out to be a pillow, and Scott hides behind his lacrosse stick, laughing.

 *

It’s almost July, and Stiles and Derek have been doing their weird dance around each other for almost a month and a half now.

Stiles has still been trying to read Derek through the books that he gets, but the guy is completely sporadic—working through sciences and histories and cultures like no one’s business, taking out a new book every few days. By this point, Stiles is fairly sure that Derek’s not even reading them.

This actually makes something warm settle in Stiles’ stomach every time he thinks about it. Because if Derek’s not even reading them, then that must mean he just comes up to talk with Stiles. (Or more have Stiles talk at him, but whatever, that’s just semantics.) Lydia keeps telling him to just ask Derek out—“like it’s hard?”—but every time Stiles even thinks about doing that, he finds himself even clumsier than usual and unable to concentrate.

Stiles had seen Derek come in earlier—not long after Stiles’ shift had begun, now that he thinks about it, and he doesn’t know if it’s a slightly creepy-yet-cute thing or just a happy coincidence—and had waved to him with a bright grin as he came in. Derek had looked somewhat surprised at the acknowledgement, before giving Stiles a small nod of the head and an almost smile, which was practically a wave coming from Derek. Then he had disappeared into the stacks, and Stiles has been keeping an eye out for him ever since.

Then, just after Lydia takes the first round of reshelving, Derek comes up to the desk with yet another book.

“Hi,” Stiles says with a smile, minimizing the game he’d been playing on the computer. “How are you today?” He’s glad he’s gotten past the point where he stumbles over the simplest of social interaction with the guy—maybe by August he’ll have worked himself up into the “asking on dates” level. Maybe.

Derek licks his lips, and Stiles tries not to stare. Instead he ends up flickering several times between Derek’s lips and eyes. “Fine,” Derek finally says. “You?”

“I’m good! Just, you know. Working. As usual.” He types in Derek’s name in the computer, then turns to the book Derek has placed on the counter. “So what’ve you got for me today?” Derek shrugs, the tiniest bit of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Shaking his head, Stiles turns to the book he has in his hands—and then promptly chokes on himself. He coughs a bit, then looks sharply up at Derek, who’s mostly looking confused.

“ _The Joy of Gay Sex_?” Stiles asks with a wince, hardly believing he’s actually saying it out loud, and Derek’s face goes white, eyes going wide.

“Wh—what?” he sputters, reaching for the book. Stiles offers it to him, but after taking it, Derek just puts it back down on the counter, looking at it like it’s going to bite him or something. “I didn’t—I mean, I just—”

Stiles feels horrible. He’s not sure if Derek was being legit with his book choice of the day or not, but it still would have probably saved them both a whole lot of mortification if he hadn’t read it out loud. God, why do they even have this book in the first place?

“Listen, can we just—forget this ever happened?” Derek says pleadingly. “I’m not—I don’t need this book,” he adds, tentatively putting a hand on the book, but then sliding it away from them and snatching his hand back.

You know that awful feeling in your chest that happens when you find out you can’t have the thing you’ve been really hoping for? That happens in Stiles’ chest right then. “Oh,” he says dumbly. On autopilot, he nods, taking the book and slipping it into the return bin. “I—of course, why would you.”

Derek looks confused, yet again, but then— “No, not because I’m—” He huffs through his nose, looking down at the desk, then back up at Stiles. “I’m gay, I just.” He gestures to the book. “I don’t need— _that_.”

It takes a second, but Stiles suddenly _gets_ it, that not only is Derek gay, sweet Jesus hallelujah, he’s— _oh god_. Experienced. Probably _way_ more experienced than has-only-kissed-Elizabeth-Thompkins-in-the-seventh-grade Stiles. That little bubble of hope that had sprung up when Derek had confirmed his homosexuality is quickly popped, and then the remnants crash and burn.

Swallowing thickly, Stiles looks down at the desk again, wondering if his face is cherry red right now, or just tomato. “Oh,” he says meekly. “I see.” He swallows again. “Um, I don’t think—” He shakes his head a little, putting his customer service voice back on, even though he doesn’t look up. “Can I help you find something else you would be more interested in?”

Derek clears his throat, and when he speaks again, his voice is more controlled. “No. Thank you.”

Stiles nods curtly. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” he says on autopilot, resolutely staring down at the desk. He grabs the small plastic lizard he keeps near the mouse to keep his hands busy, keep him focused on something. “Have a nice day.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, during which Stiles isn’t sure if he’s hoping or dreading Derek saying something else. Then all he says is, “You, too.”

Stiles doesn’t look up again until he hears the door close behind Derek. Then he’s frozen for a few moments, watching the shadow of Derek’s head disappear down the steps. Once Derek is gone completely, Stiles jerks back into motion; he tosses the lizard back by the mouse and pushes off the desk into a spin. As his chair spins, he groans, scrubbing his hands over his face.

He gets back to the desk again and stops the spin by setting his elbows down, face still in his hands. “Oh my god,” he mumbled, unable to believe how badly everything had gotten messed up in such a short time.

“What in the hell was _that_?”

Stiles jumps at the sound of Lydia’s voice, flailing as he looks up at her. She still has half of her books still on her cart and is glaring at Stiles like he wore the same shirt as her on purpose.

“I don’t know!” Stiles protests, flinging his arms wide. “It was going well until it wasn’t!”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Fix it. I don’t want to have to deal with you moping around here.”

Before Stiles can open his mouth to protest—he totally wouldn’t _mope_ , okay—Lydia has spun around, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and is pushing her cart away.

 *

 Stiles resolutely doesn’t mope over the next few days.

“I’m _pining_. There’s a difference.” He possibly shoves the book in his hands a little too forcefully onto the cart.

Lydia snorts indelicately, shaking her head as she puts a book from her own stack on the cart. “Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s distracting, so you need to either fix it, or get over it.”

“I—”

“Hey, I know something you could do!” she says suddenly, like it’s only just sparked in her mind, even though Stiles is pretty sure the entire conversation has been leading up to this. “Why don’t you and Isaac come out with us tomorrow night? We were all going to go see the fireworks together.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “‘Us’ being…?”

She purses her lips, delicately putting a book in the cart. “Me, Jackson, Scott, Allison, Danny and his boyfriend Grant.”

“ _Lydia_ ,” Stiles hisses, and she raises her eyebrows, eyes wide in the worst impression of innocent Stiles has ever seen her do. “Are you kidding me?” He flings his arms out wide. “I’m not gonna—go on a _quadruple_ date with you tomorrow night, no!”

“Why not?” she asks, her voice growing sharp. “Do you not like Isaac?” She’s been a bit over-protective of Isaac ever since it was discovered in the latter half of their sophomore year that he’d been living with an abusive father. But then, most of them had, really.

Stiles jerks his head in something resembling a negative answer. “No, I—I like Isaac just fine, I just—” He gestures helplessly with his hands. “I don’t like him like _that_. Don’t you think I would have made a move on him by now if I did?”

“Like you made a move on Derek?”

He opens his mouth and puts up a finger to protest, but Lydia just arches her brow. “Okay, point,” he gives, angling his finger towards her, then sighs as he picks up the last few books he’s got to sort. “However, the fact still remains that I don’t want to date Isaac. He’s a cool dude, just…not my type.” He’d always thought Isaac kinda had an unrequited-love-thing going on with Scott anyway.

Lydia rolls her eyes, placing the last book in her hands on the cart. “We’ll see you at eight.”

“Yeah, sitting on a blanket with my dad, about to watch the fireworks.” With an unimpressed look, she reaches and grabs the last three books in Stiles’ hands, quickly sorting them throughout the rest. “I mean it, Lydia.”

She ignores him, turning to smile at the elderly gentleman who has just come in the door, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s doomed.

 *

“I don’t even like fireworks,” Stiles says later that night to his dad, shucking corn for corn on the cob while the Sheriff prepares the marinade for the steaks he’ll be grilling.

“Independence Day is your favorite holiday _because of the fireworks_ ,” his dad reminds him, and Stiles makes a face at the strands of corn silk that are stubbornly sticking to the ear of corn he’s trying to clean.

“It’s going to be terrible,” he grouses, yanking the silk off with possibly more force than necessary. “And awkward. Everyone’s going to be all—cute and cuddling and—” He gestures wildly, corn still in hand. “— _making out_ while Isaac and I just…” He slumps, letting the corn drop into the pot with the rest of the clean ones. “Sit there.”

“Tell Lydia you can’t go,” his dad says, like it’s easy. Like Lydia doesn’t drag everyone wherever she wants them to be, half the time without them even knowing until they’re already there. “Or,” he adds, dropping one of the steaks into the marinade with a soft ‘plop’ that makes Stiles shudder internally, “you could realize that Isaac is probably going to feel just as awkward as you and suck it up and go so he’s at least not alone the whole time.”

Stiles feels his mouth open, but he quickly snaps it shut as a brief wash of shame comes over him. He rips the leaves of the husk off of the next ear of corn. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Better to be awkward together than to leave him to be the third wheel all by himself,” the sheriff says wisely, another steak dropping into the marinade.

Sighing, Stiles resists a pout and rips off the other half of the husk. “Seventh wheel,” he corrects absently.

His dad rolls his eyes.

 *

The fourth of July dawns bright and hot and Stiles sleeps through a good six hours of it.

That’s mostly because he’s having a _very_ good dream involving Derek and Derek’s hands. And mouth. And thighs. …Basically his entire body. Naked. Also sweaty. Also possibly involving Stiles riding said naked body like a fucking prize pony.

So basically it’s an amazing dream (and one out of many that Stiles has had regarding Derek since he first saw him two months ago) and Stiles doesn’t want it to end, so when he’s rudely woken up by Scott jumping on top of him, knocking all of the wind out of him and nearly elbowing him in his morning wood, it’s safe to say Stiles wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. Especially considering that after the ensuing flailing, Stiles very nearly ends up on the floor.

“C’mon, dude, I’ve been up for like eight hours,” Scott says, bouncing a little, while Stiles moans, the upper half of his body hanging over the edge of the bed.

“You’ve only been up ‘case you got paid for it,” Stiles points out; Scott had told him last week that he was working the morning shift at the animal hospital, but would definitely be out in time to partake in the Stilinski Family Barbeque. If Scott hadn’t worked, Stiles might have even made it out of bed before him.

Scott ignores the statement, just pokes at the small of Stiles’ back and says, “It’s time to join the land of the living.”

“Living is overrated,” Stiles groans, managing to push himself back up onto the bed (with only a small amount of assistance on Scott’s part in the form of him grabbing the back of Stiles’ shirt.) His raging boner has diminished to more of a chubby by now, and he and Scott have been friends for too long to be embarrassed about something like that (if Scott even notices) so Stiles’ flops onto his back, throwing his arms above his head. He’s a little disappointed about the lack of a satisfying conclusion to his awesome sex dream, but Scott looks adorable enough in his excitement that Stiles is able to forgive him.

“C’mon, your dad’s about to light the grill and said I could light it this time if I woke you up!” Scott says then, pushing on Stiles’ legs and bouncing the bed.

“What are you, seven?” Stiles says, pushing Scott off the bed with his feet.

“Seven and a half,” Scott corrects with a grin as he gets off the bed. “Now c’mon, get up! Don’t you wanna watch me light shit on fire? I swear I won’t catch my eyebrows on fire this time.”

“Promises, promises,” Stiles says, waving Scott off as he rolls out of bed and to his feet. His boner is pretty much completely gone by now, thankfully, but Scott is still standing there expectantly. Stiles takes off his shirt and whips it at Scott. “Get out, perv, I need to change.” Not that Scott hasn’t seen him naked before, but it’s the principle of the thing.

Scott pretends to leer, but it just looks awkward. “I’ll throw my pants at you next,” Stiles threatens, hands going for the waistband, and Scott scampers out quickly, laughing as he clatters down the stairs.

 *

Independence Day has always been Stiles’ favorite holiday, and not just because of all the colorful explosions (some of which he has very fond memories of, like sitting in his mother’s lap, or brushing shoulders with Scott to look up at them.) It’s also the one day out of the year that Stiles’ dad resolutely takes off from work so he can have a bit of a cook-out. They invite a good portion of the police department, grilling up burgers and hot dogs and whatnot, and save the steaks for themselves before they go watch the fireworks that the fire department the next town over puts on.

After some internal debate over a shower, Stiles decides to just put on some extra deodorant and makes sure his shirt is a fresh one before heading downstairs. He makes it in one piece, only to almost run into Isaac and send them both flying.

“Shit, you okay?” Stiles asks, catching himself on Isaac’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you—”

“It’s okay,” Isaac replies, and Stiles nods, releasing him.

Then remembers that he and Isaac are supposed to be somewhat-dates later that night, and cringes internally.

“Um, so Scott invited me after work the other day,” Isaac says after a moment of awkward silence, jerking his thumb towards the back door, where just outside of it, Stiles can see his dad and Scott around the barbeque, Allison hovering behind them looking nervous. “I…hope that’s okay?”

“What? No, of course!” Stiles says, waving his arms in a hopefully welcoming manner. “The more the merrier, man.”

Isaac smiles tentatively, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Good.”

“But um—so, have you talked to Lydia, lately?” Stiles asks with a wince.

“She…told me that you were coming along with all of us to the fireworks later?” Isaac says with a shrug. “I figured she was just forcing you, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“No no no, I want to come, I just—wanted to clarify something, mostly.”

“Clarify?” One of Isaac’s eyebrows arches, and Stiles clears his throat.

“Yeah, I just—like, I know the rest of them are all going as dates, or…whatever, but—”

“I know you’re still hung up on your mystery library boy, don’t worry,” Isaac says with a grin, and Stiles blanches, his mouth dropping open in what he knows is an unattractive manner. Isaac laughs—more like giggles, let’s be real—and raises his eyebrows. “Did you really think Lydia _or_ Scott would be quiet about something like that?” He laughs again, then shrugs. “I mean, Lydia practically told me that she was setting us up so you would get over him.”

“I…” Stiles reaches his hand out for something, like maybe a good answer, but then he deflates. “No, yeah, that sounds about right.” He winces a little. “I mean…so you’re cool, that I just want to be friends?”

“Of course.”

Isaac is still grinning, and Stiles finds it a bit infectious, so he begins smiling as well. He’s mostly just relieved that this is all cleared up now—he was like eighty-seven percent sure Isaac didn’t like him that way anyway, but still—so they don’t have to sit through the awkwardness of wondering if the other actually likes them like that, and can focus on the other awkwardness that will undoubtedly be happening, particularly when all of their friends start making out around them.

“C’mon,” he says, jerking his head toward the door. “Let’s go watch Scott burn off his eyebrows again.”

 *

The barbeque goes off without a hitch, Scott doesn’t set anything on fire that he’s not supposed to, the steaks are fucking delicious, and before he knows it, Stiles and Isaac are getting in his Jeep to meet Scott and Allison (who had left halfway through to go to the barbeque the Argents were having) and the rest of the gang at the high school one town over.

He leaves Melissa with the Sheriff, since she’s miraculously managed to get the night off, to enjoy a cup of coffee before they head over as well. He and Isaac chat easily about their classes for next year over the fifteen minute trip to the next town over. They manage to find a spot in the parking lot proper, but Stiles knows it’s because it’ll be a bitch to get out of it later, in the mad rush of cars. He doesn’t particularly care, though, willing to wait a little bit, and whistles as he pockets his keys.

The air is still a bit sticky, everything painted in the gold light of dusk. All the vendors have already set up shop; there’s a stand like the ones at the fair, selling cotton candy and corn dogs and lemonade, and at strategic points around the school there are people selling glow sticks and glow necklaces and glow guns. Stiles itches to buy a glow gun, but Isaac is walking over to where Lydia had said to meet them, so he jogs to catch up.

Lydia, Jackson, Allison and Scott are already there, two blankets spread across the grass beneath them. Both girls are cuddling into their respective dates: Allison’s back is to Scott’s chest, his arms wrapped around her and legs splayed out on either side of her, while Lydia and Jackson are less obviously intertwined, but no less obviously a couple, with Lydia leaning into Jackson’s shoulder, arms wrapped around one of his.

Lydia turns when she hears their approach. “Hey guys!” she says with a smile without getting up. “You’re just in time, Danny and Grant should be here any minute.”

Stiles gives Isaac a look, involving a lot of eyebrows, but Isaac just rolls his eyes and smiles as he folds himself down into a seat next to Scott and Allison.

“Actually, I think I’m gonna go get some cotton candy,” Stiles excuses, jerking his thumb over his shoulder instead of sitting down. “Anyone want anything?”

They all give negative answers, but Isaac jumps back up, even though he just sat down. “I’ll go with you,” he says, and adds under his breath, “because I really don’t want to be scarred for life.”

As Isaac is saying this, Scott asks, “Dude, why didn’t you get it on the way in?”

Lydia hits him very unsubtly, telling him to shut up under her breath and giving Scott a meaningful look, and Stiles rolls his lips in his mouth as he attempts not to laugh.

“We’ll be right back,” Isaac says, tugging on Stiles’ arm and leading them back the way they came in.

Once they’re a few steps away, Stiles breaks down into laughter, nearly doubling over. He clings to Isaac’s shoulder to stop himself from falling completely as they walk, even though Isaac is laughing hysterically too, and is really not much help at all.

When they start getting weird looks from parents and children alike, they manage to contain themselves, drawing up to their full heights and only letting out a giggle once in a while.

“So,” Stiles says, slinging an arm around Isaac’s shoulders, “when do you think the making out will start, pre, during, or post-fireworks?”

Isaac hisses through his teeth, letting his arm fall around Stiles’ waist. “I dunno, that’s a tough one. I bet pre for Scott and Allison, during for—”

“Stiles?”

At the sound of his name, Stiles whips around, dragging Isaac along with him. Then he stops short.

“Derek.”

And it really is Derek, sitting on a blanket with a dark-haired girl next to him. He looks just as shocked as Stiles feels.

God, but he looks _good_. He’s sans jacket, his grey shirt clinging to his back and shoulders, propped up on his hands and head twisted around to look at Stiles, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

“Is this mysterious library guy?” Isaac murmurs next to him, and Stiles suddenly springs back into life, quickly side-stepping away from Isaac, dropping his own arm as he feels Isaac’s slip from his waist.

“Uh, hi!” Stiles says, waving awkwardly. “Um.” He doesn’t really know what to say here—he would feel weird introducing Derek, since they haven’t really conversed enough to consider each other friends. He’s wondering if he should have prepared himself for this, but when two towns worth of people congregate in one place, how likely was it that he would have met Derek?

Very likely, apparently.

At least Derek looks just as lost as Stiles. The girl next to Derek is watching the proceedings with interest, wearing a look that reminds Stiles of Lydia when she’s figuring something out.

Then it hits her, and then she hits Derek, with a good solid punch to the arm. “What the—”

“This is that kid from the library you’ve been going to see, isn’t it?” she asks, loudly, and even though Stiles can only see a bit of his profile, he can tell Derek is scowling. She turns to look at Stiles more directly, a sly grin on her face. “My brother hasn’t shut up about you for _weeks_ ,” she explains conspiratorially, and Stiles can feel himself perk up into a grin without really meaning to.

“Really?” he blurts, something bright blooming in his chest.

It quickly wilts when Isaac adds, “Stiles has been the same way,” and Stiles whips his head around to glare warningly at him. Isaac gives him a ‘what are you going to do about it?’ look, and Stiles kinds of wants to hide behind something for a bit.

Instead, Derek’s sister rises to her feet, using Derek as leverage, then using the hand on his shoulder to hold him down. “Well, I do believe there has been some miscommunication here,” she announces, giving Derek a warning look when he opens his mouth. He huffs, looking frustrated, and turns to look in front of him, not even looking at Stiles at all. She rolls her eyes, taking careful steps over Derek’s hands and over to Stiles and Isaac. “And you seriously need to get him out of his funk, okay, he’s been more annoying than usual,” she stage-whispers to Stiles.

“But I—”

She turns to Isaac with a bright smile, like Stiles isn’t even there anymore. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Laura.”

Isaac smiles, following her lead and ignoring Stiles as he offers his hand. “I’m Isaac. Pleasure to meet you.”

Laura has got a wicked smile on her face as they shake hands. “Now sweetheart, what do you say to accompanying a lady to the concession stand?”

“It would be my pleasure.” He offers her his arm, and once she takes it they’re off, completely ignoring all of Stiles’ spluttering.

Eventually they’re far enough away that Stiles has no choice but to talk to Derek. Who’s still not looking at Stiles. At all.

He’s halfway considering just leaving Derek there and going back to his friends, because it’s obvious that Derek doesn’t really want to talk with him. Stiles doesn’t even know what he did wrong, but it was obviously enough to keep Derek away for the past eight days. Not that Stiles has been counting, or anything.

“You can sit down if you want,” Derek says suddenly, and there’s a glimmer of that bright thing in Stiles’ chest again as he hastens to do so, choosing to sit in the grass rather than take Laura’s former spot. He crosses his legs and grabs onto his ankles, hoping Derek will give him some kind of clue as to what’s happening here.

When Derek doesn’t say anything for a moment, Stiles clears his throat. “Uh, so…”

He doesn’t get much farther than that, because then Derek blurts out, “I’m sorry,” like he’s been working himself up to it.

Stiles blinks. Whatever he’d been preparing himself for, it wasn’t that. “What? Why?”

Derek sighs, and suddenly Stiles is struck yet again with just how _good-looking_ Derek is, even when he looks frustrated and embarrassed. “I think I…made some assumptions that weren’t entirely true.”

“Well, you know assuming only makes an ass out of you and me!” Stiles says, braying out a nervous laugh. At Derek’s raised eyebrow (but also smile, Stiles totally sees the corner of his mouth twitching) he clears his throat, looking down at his knees and wishing the heat in his cheeks would go down. “So, what did you assume?”

“Uh. I…assumed that you were slightly homophobic?”

Stiles knows he shouldn’t laugh, but he can’t help it. Derek only looks mildly offended anyway. “I’m sorry, but—me? _Homophobic_?” He shakes his head, still smiling. “I may be into self-loathing, but not _that_ much.”

Derek squints his eyes a little, in what Stiles assumes is confusion, but then they widen in comprehension and Stiles can see his ears redden. It’s kind of nice, not being the only one blushing.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says again, mostly to his knees.

At this point though, Stiles doesn’t even really care, because if Laura was being serious about how much Derek talks about him, then all of _his_ talking about _Derek_ doesn’t seem so stupid anymore. Add that to the fact that they’ve clarified their misunderstanding, and Stiles easily finds it in himself to forgive him.

“I just have one question for you,” Stiles says. Derek looks at him warily as Stiles leans in closer, pulling off his best Leonardo-DiCaprio-in-Inception impression. “Out of all those books that you checked out, how many were legit?”

Derek’s eyes widen, but then—oh lord, he’s _laughing_ , all white teeth and dimples and eye crinkles, head tipping back, and Stiles decides right then and there that he wants to learn anything and everything that will make Derek laugh like that always.

“I think only two of them were legit,” Derek says eventually. “That first one—”

“ _Cider House Rules_ ,” Stiles recites, before realizing that may or may not seem a little creepy.

But Derek continues as if it’s completely normal, a smile playing with the corners of his lips. “—and then the Vonnegut.”

“Oh thank God.” At Derek’s questioning look, Stiles explains, “If you hadn’t legitimately liked Vonnegut, I would have had to seriously reconsider any possible relationship with you.” Derek raises his eyebrows, and then Stiles realizes what he’s said. “Not that—I mean, I was hoping, that you would like to pursue some kind of relationship here—”

“Stiles,” Derek says, sounding a little exasperated, but mostly fond. “I didn’t even know what books I was checking out half the time, just so I could come talk to you. I think it’s safe to say I’m interested in some kind of relationship.”

That bright thing in Stiles’ chest does more than bloom, then; it practically explodes, and Stiles can’t help but beam at Derek, whose ears are still red. “Yeah?”

“Have you guys made out yet?”

Derek’s face suddenly hardens as he looks back up over his shoulder, where his sister is standing, biting into a corn dog. Isaac is standing a few steps behind here, looking torn between watching them and ignoring them; however, Stiles is a little busy being slightly terrified of the look Derek is giving Laura to be too concerned with Isaac’s dilemma.

“Shut up, Laura,” Derek says darkly.

She smiles around a mouthful of corn dog. “I take that as a no,” she says around the food. She swallows, then turns back to Isaac. “Isaac, darling, how would you like to introduce me to this Scott friend of yours?”

Isaac looks a little frightened at the prospect, actually, but Laura doesn’t give him the chance to respond, instead linking their arms again and heading over to where the couples are sitting.

After waiting until she’s out of earshot, Stiles turns back to Derek. He’s scowling, knees pulled up and arms crossed over them.

“Hey, c’mon. Smile a little.” Stiles tips into Derek, nudging their shoulders together, and Derek looks over. Stiles forgets what he’s saying for a moment, as the fading sunlight catches in Derek’s eyes, turning them especially green and hazel. Shaking his head, he looks away from Derek before this whole thing turns into one of those romance novels Mrs. Hardison reads. (Not that Stiles has read any.)

Then he pulls his legs up to mimic Derek’s position, ripping out some of the grass beneath him and rubbing the blades between his fingers. There’s silence, but somehow, it’s not awkward.

Derek clears his throat, making Stiles jump a little, but then he’s leaning over to brush their shoulders together, a much lighter touch than Stiles’ moments ago. “You can sit on the blanket, you know,” he says quietly, like he’s not sure Stiles will want to, and Stiles beams.

 *

By the time Stiles has settled into Laura’s former spot, the sun has almost set completely, long shadows stretching across them and the field. The kids are getting rowdier, even as parents call out to them to tell them the fireworks are gonna start soon, and Stiles smiles at a little boy with curly brown hair who’s sitting in his father’s lap, looking expectantly up at the sky.

When he turns to nudge Derek and point out the boy, he finds Derek still sitting with his chin on his knees, looking contemplative and awkward and still really really attractive, even when there’s hardly any light.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Stiles asks, and that was definitely not what he’d been planning on saying, but now that he’s said it, he has a sudden burning desire to know.

Derek starts, and after sending a brief glance in Stiles’ direction, just shrugs. “I dunno. I get—nervous. I guess. Wasn’t even sure if you were…interested.”

“Was the flailing and stumbling and blushing not enough of a hint for you?”

He shrugs again. “I maybe…thought you were like that all the time?” But then he frowns and gets defensive. “What about you? You could’ve—when I—”

“When you accidentally tried to check out a guide to gay sex?” Stiles says bluntly, mostly just to see Derek get flustered again. He gives it away though, grinning over at Derek, and Derek narrows his eyes.

“Yes, _then_ ,” he says, ripping out a clump of grass and throwing it at Stiles.

Stiles ducks, but then his smile fades and he swallows, brushing off the blades of grass. He doesn’t look at Derek as he answers, “You had just said that you didn’t need said guide, implying that you’ve already had a lot of gay sex, whereas I am just—me, and have no experience whatsoever, and I figured… someone like you wouldn’t want someone like me?” It sounds stupid now that he says it out loud—especially once he figures in Derek’s dedication to speaking (or more like grunting, whatever) to Stiles every time. But he’d been flustered at the time. “And then all of a sudden you were leaving and I didn’t have a chance to fix it, since you never came back.”

“I would have.” Stiles looks over, and he can hardly see Derek’s face now, but he looks annoyed—at himself. “Eventually.”

“Because Laura would have made you?” he teases.

Stiles can barely make it out, but he thinks Derek is glaring in his general direction; he knows Derek doesn’t really mean it, though. Then Derek grudgingly says, “Maybe.”

Any response Stiles might have had is cut off by the sound of a firework fizzling up into the air. Stiles swings his head to look at it, an uncontrollable smile stealing across his face as the firework explodes into a shower of gold sparks, the loud boom following half a second later. His favorite part is the way it feels like that boom echoes in his chest.

He stretches his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands and tipping his head back to look. “I love fireworks,” he murmurs. Derek doesn’t say anything back, but Stiles can hear him shifting on the blanket.

Then suddenly he feels something warm brush his thumb. It takes everything in him not to jump, but he has his suspicions about what the touch is. They’re confirmed when the touch becomes firmer, insistent, and then Derek’s thumb is covering his. Stiles smiles to himself, not sure if that feeling in his chest is leftover reverb from the fireworks or just his own heart trying to beat its way out.

When Stiles doesn’t move, Derek grows a little bolder, shifting again until he’s covering half of Stiles’ fingers with his own. He freezes when Stiles moves his thumb, but Stiles doesn’t go far—he only moves to tuck Derek’s thumb into his palm, his own thumb on top of Derek’s hand in an almost-sorta-kinda-holding-hands thing. He briefly strokes his thumb over the back of Derek’s hand before just leaving it there.

Neither of them move for a moment; Stiles is carefully breathing in and out, eyes on the fireworks but not really seeing them. The little kids around them are exclaiming and giggling, but Stiles can only focus on the heat of Derek’s hand on his, not sure what’s going to happen next. Then, slowly, Derek relaxes next to him, his fingers curling around Stiles’ and squeezing once.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Derek, lit up by the steady bursts of color. Derek’s not quite smiling, but he looks happy, relaxed. Stiles wants to shift, move slightly closer so their shoulders brush, but at the same time, he’s completely content to just stay where he is, not wanting to ruin it.

“You’re missing the finale,” Derek says, turning his head slightly to catch Siles’ eye, and Stiles realizes he’s looking less out of the corner of his eye and is more outright staring.

Feeling the heat in his cheeks, Stiles bites his lip and looks back to the sky. He can feel Derek’s eyes on him for a moment, but then Derek is looking back up too.

He didn’t think that much time has passed, but the sky is bursting with colors and lights, the booms echoing in his chest, and everything feels warm and fuzzy and perfect. Derek squeezes Stiles’ hand a little, and Stiles isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to stop smiling.

Not that he wants to.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months later, Stiles finds Derek between the stacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you'll notice the work's rating went up, because the epilogue has porn. you're welcome. ;)

“I’m taking my break,” Stiles announces.

Lydia hums disinterestedly, flipping a page in her Seventeen magazine—actually Seventeen this time. He pushes himself away from the desk, rubbing his hands on his jeans as he stands. He makes his way out from the desk, intending to disappear into the stacks, and then Lydia calls out, “Tell Derek I said hi!”

Stiles throws his middle finger up over his shoulder, not looking back.

They’ve been dating for almost two months now, and Stiles has found out that Derek is even better in person than across the room. He still doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s witty and brilliant. He also scowls and frowns a lot, but Stiles has come to realize that’s mostly just his face. And luckily Stiles finds him attractive at like, all times anyway.

Other than John Irving and Kurt Vonnegut, Derek is also into modern poetry (which didn’t surprise Stiles at all, because he’s got that whole brooding poet thing down pat) but Stiles is mostly a big fan of the intensity with which Derek loves the things he loves. When he admits to loving them, at least.

He finds Derek in the back corner, his nose buried in a book; he’s pleased to note that it’s Siken’s _Crush_ , something Stiles had introduced him to once he realized how much Derek liked poetry.

Derek looks up when he hears Stiles approach, closing the book around his finger to hold his spot. He smiles, something small and a little mischievous, and then he’s pushing himself to his feet and positively _stalking_ over to where Stiles has stopped in front of him.

He cups his hand behind Stiles head and pulls him in, kissing him thoroughly, all open mouths and tongues, and Stiles tries his hardest not to make a noise when Derek wraps his other arm around Stiles’ waist and pulls him even closer, bodies aligning perfectly. He doesn’t succeed in holding back when Derek presses him against the nearest bookshelf.

Did he mention kissing? Derek is also a really really good kisser. Like, really good. (He’s also very good at blowjobs, which Stiles had discovered a few weeks ago.)

Pulling back slowly, Derek places another soft kiss to Stiles’ somewhat slack mouth, nosing at him a little before he pulls away enough to look Stiles in the eye. “Hi,” he says softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Hi,” Stiles says back, voice cracking a little. Derek smirks, then ducks in, latching his mouth to his favorite spot on Stiles neck. Stiles gasps, concentrating on not moaning as his hands come up to grip Derek’s shoulders.

“How’s work been today?” Derek asks somewhere in between Stiles’ throat and Stiles’ earlobe, and that shit’s just not fair.

“Fuh-fine,” Stiles replies, shuddering at the feeling of Derek’s warm breath on his neck. “Lyd—oh god, Lydia says hi.”

“Hi, Lydia,” Derek says into the skin of Stiles’ shoulder, moving his t-shirt aside to get at it.

Stiles knows, somewhere inside him, that he should stop this. Really. He’s only on break, not nearly long enough time to finish anything they start, and there’s also the way anyone could walk by at any moment. But Derek likes to use his teeth, and Stiles likes that Derek likes to use his teeth.

The hand on Stiles’ back goes lower, nearly cupping his ass, while Derek slips his leg in between Stiles’, rocking them together just barely enough to get some friction.

“Shit,” Stiles huffs out, his head dropping back, thunking dully against the shelves. “Derek—”

“Shh,” Derek murmurs. “If you can keep quiet I might blow you.”

“Here?” he says, a little too loudly, and Derek pulls away slightly, a hand clamping over Stiles’ mouth.

His eyes are glittering, something predatory yet mischievous in them. He arches an eyebrow (Stiles really has to get him to teach him that trick) and then murmurs, “Only if you’re quiet.” He leans in close, lips nearly brushing the back of his hand. “You think you can do that?”

Now, Stiles has never had any inclinations for exhibitionism—voyeurism, maybe, but that’s another kink for another day—but the way Derek looks right now, a little wild and a lot turned on, eyes almost glowing, makes Stiles willing to say yes to everything.

He nods behind Derek’s hand, a quiet whimper strangling in his throat. It makes Derek smirk, one eyebrow arching again, and then suddenly Derek is manhandling Stiles around the corner.

He doesn’t quite slam Stiles against the end of the bookshelf, but it’s a near thing, and his hands have undone Stiles’ belt and jeans before he’s even caught his breath. That may be because Derek is busy devouring his mouth, though, so.

Derek breaks away with a wet smack of their lips, and Stiles feels like he’s still too loud even though he’s not making a sound, panting too-loud as Derek drops to his knees, all easy, fluid grace. Letting his head drop back against the bookshelf, Stiles doesn’t dare to look as he feels Derek pull down his briefs and pull out his cock.

He brings his fist up to bit into instead of letting out the streams of “oh my god”s and “Derek please”s that want to come out, while Derek breathes warm air over it. A grunt still makes it out around his knuckles when Derek swallows him down.

As Derek goes to work, Stiles feels like he’s going to shake out of his skin. He doesn’t exactly have the best stamina on a regular day—he’s a mostly virginal teenager, okay, and they’re working on it—but he knows in his gut that he’s not going to last long _at all_.

Because like he said, Derek gives phenomenal head, and seems to know every trick in the book that makes Stiles come apart at the seams, and he’s using all of them now.

“Oh god,” Stiles whispers, dropping his hand—there’s sharp red marks where his teeth had been—and running it through Derek’s hair. “I’m close,” he pants.

Derek redoubles his efforts, cheeks hollowing as he sucks hard, eyes fluttering closed, hands digging into Stiles’ hips, and it’s too much, just too much.

Stiles comes silently, mouth open and eyes closed, nearly doubling over as he clutches at Derek’s hair, one hand even reaching beyond to fist in the back of Derek’s shirt. Derek swallows it all, milking him until he’s completely spent and then some, then lets Stiles’ dick slip out of his mouth.

“Oh my god,” Stiles moans quietly. His limbs feel like overcooked noodles. Derek chuckles, tucking Stiles back into his underwear as Stiles slowly straightens back up. “Oh my _god_ ,” he says again for emphasis, leaning against the shelf and sliding down it, his legs splaying around Derek’s knees. Derek smirks, wiping at the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and Stiles fists his hand in the front of Derek’s shirt to kiss that smirk right off him.

He tastes salty and bitter, and with a jolt Stiles realizes he’s tasting his own come.

He fumbles at Derek’s belt, intending to at least attempt to return the favor, but Derek circles his wrists, pulling his hands away, and then pulls back. “I’m good for now,” he murmurs against Stiles’ lips. He lets go, and Stiles lets his hands drop into his lap while Derek pats at Stiles’ thighs. “C’mon, you’ve gotta get back to work.”

“Nope,” Stiles says, watching as Derek stands and readjusts himself. (He’s always wearing such tight pants. Not that Stiles is really complaining.) “I’m dead. You’ve killed me. Death by orgasm, right here.”

Derek rolls his eyes and offers his hand. When Stiles doesn’t take it, he arches an eyebrow and adds, “Do you want Lydia to have to come find you?”

At that, Stiles quickly redoes his pants and then takes Derek’s hand, letting Derek do most of the work in bringing him back to standing. Derek’s strong, he can handle it.

They’re close once Stiles is on his feet, and Stiles smiles as he sways in for a kiss. Derek lifts his hand to cup Stiles’ cheek, but keeps the kiss relatively soft. Stiles could keep kissing him like that forever, but then Derek pulls back.

“Work,” he reminds, and Stiles sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” he says, leaning in for one more kiss.

“Call me when you’re done?” Derek checks, like Stiles hasn’t done so basically every day since he got Derek’s number.

“Definitely.” Derek gives him a smile, small and true and belonging only to Stiles, and Stiles can’t help but kiss him again.

After a few more kisses, Stiles finally extricates himself from Derek and heads back to the desk. He knows he has an “I just got laid” look on his face, for which Lydia gives him the stink eye, but then she also smirks at her magazine, so.

A few minutes after Stiles has settled into his chair, Derek comes out of the stacks as well, looking a bit more worse for wear than Stiles, unfortunately. (It’s not Stiles’ fault that Derek wears easily wrinkle-able shirts and his hair is so nice to grip. Really.) He doesn’t come up to the desk—he’s still got the rest of Siken to read, and he only checked that out yesterday—but he catches Stiles’ eye. He gives Stiles a little two-fingered wave, and Stiles can’t help but grin. Derek keeps eye contact as he exits, opening the door with his back, and sends a wink in Stiles’ direction just before he turns around to head into the late summer afternoon.

Stiles can’t help but call out, “Have a nice day!”


End file.
